


Inspiration

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-05
Updated: 2001-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: After the movie about the X-files has been released Mulder discovers a little something on the net called Slash Fanfiction.





	Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Inspiration by Cappuccino

Author: Cappuccino  
Title: Inspiration  
Feedback:   
TotalParts: 1  
Pairing: M/K  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: After the movie about the X-files has been released Mulder discovers a little something on the net called Slash Fanfiction.  
Notes: Thanks to Black Coffee for beta.  
Feedback most welcomed, craved actually.  
Disclaimer: Mulder and Krycek are not mine. They belong to CC, the lucky, lucky man.

* * *

Well, this day had sucked. Royally.

Mulder sighed heavily as he closed the door behind him and threw the mail on to the dresser in the hall. He was tired and wet and hungry and on top of that, someone had decided that he had not experienced enough humiliation in his life so far and sent him a mock e-mail that had had him chasing wind mills for a good three days before they so kindly clued him in.

Needless to say, he hadn't found it quite as funny as they had.

Now he had a weekend to recover, and he had decided he damn well would. No working, no going through old documents, no catching up on the files on Samantha he had wanted to reread for a long time.

Fuck all that!

As he flopped down on the couch and kicked off his sweaty shoes, he made a promise to himself that he would spend the next two days off doing nothing but ordinary weekend stuff. Stuff that everyone who wasn't a federal workaholic did. Stuff like...

Mulder blinked a couple of times as he realized he did not have a clue what to do if he wasn't working or thinking about working, or working on keeping in shape for work. What did people actually do on their weekend off? What did he hear his neighbors referring to when he ran into them in the hallway every few months? Walk in the park? Go to football games? Go to the movies?

Spend time with their friends and families. Go to dinner with their lovers.

There was a sharp sting somewhere in his chest at the thought. Sadness and regret, feelings as repressed and unwanted as the first gray hairs he had discovered just that morning. Mulder rubbed his chest, almost absentmindedly, and sighed. Loneliness had a tendency to hide behind piles of work and commitments. Time off, however, uncovered it painfully fast. He had forgotten. And now he was reminded.

"Well, I'm not doing this anyway," he muttered to himself as he hastily got up from the sofa. "I'm not spending my weekend making myself depressed."

He went into the bathroom and took a long, warm shower. Looked at himself in the mirror, pulling his hand through his damp hair. He wasn't bad looking for his age. Okay, maybe he wasn't 25 anymore, but it was definitely not too late yet. On his way to the bedroom, he stopped by the kitchen and surveyed the fridge. Beer, mustard and miracle whip. Hmmm. "Okay, so shopping is something people do on their weekends. I guess that will be my first point of call then."

Grabbing a beer, he went into the bedroom to get dressed. Soft, relaxing clothes. Hang up the official suit out of sight and not look at it until Monday morning. Getting better at this already. Once leisurely attired and half way through his first beer, he went back to the livingroom and slumped on the couch. What now? What did people do late on Friday nights, when they were showered and comfortable and the stores where closed?

Well, that was kind of self-explanatory, really, wasn't it.

He had his tapes. Had them and had *had* them for so long now he thought he would probably be able to top an word-for-word-moan-for-moan exam on them. And to be honest, they had never done that much for him anyway. Porn was like that - boring. So was jerking off. Sex, although sparse, was starting to go in that direction as well. Before he used to be able to get excited at the thought of a night with a woman, any woman, but lately...well, not that it wasn't good, it was just (boring, unemotional, disgusting, unfulfilling) not worth the effort. And he had been too busy lately anyway to do much dating.

Or was that just an excuse?

So, when the VCR failed him, and there was nothing on TV much to cheer about, where to turn to then? Scanning the living room, his eyes fell on the computer on the desk by the wall. He took one step towards it, then stopped. No, if he sat down there he would just start to work. And he had promised himself, no work this weekend. "Don't fall for the temptation, Mulder, you know what will happen." On the other hand, he was a fucking psychologist, he must have some self control.

He took a long swig out of the bottle in his right hand, with his left he reached out and pressed the on-button. See, that wasn't so bad. No acute feelings of becoming the Special Agent Fox Mulder With The FBI again. He was just a guy, surfing for...entertainment. Enjoyment. Distraction. He could so do this.

Right, putting the bottle next to the pile of files he was not going to read, he turned on the screen. Logged on. Got a search engine. Then he sat back and looked at the empty space where he was to type in his keywords of interest. Okay, nothing whatsoever to do with work or aliens or the Marley smoking part of the population. Shouldn't be that hard to find something else interesting.

He thought for a while, drumming his fingers on the table top and sipping his beer. Finally he succumbed to that one web-narcissism all people did sooner or later. He typed in the word "Fox Mulder" and pressed enter.

"And avoid all FBI related hits, you hear me." But what else could there possibly be?

"What?" He tilted his head and frowned as he saw the pages found. 20th Century Fox, movie reviews, cast list, "based on a true story about agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully..." Of course, the movie. 

He had almost forgot.

It was a year ago. A Hollywood producer making a perfectly awful movie about the X-files. Stupid guy playing him, didn't look nothing like him. Scully was a bimbo. Skinner was a hero. Oh, yeah, he remembered alright. He had gone to the premier, all but thrown up, and done his best to avoid anything related to it ever since. A few journalists calling, wanting to know if he and 'Miss Agent Dana' were getting married and if he himself had ever been buried alive by aliens. He had told them all to please fuck off, although not in so many words, of course.

He hadn't said 'please'.

With a sigh, he started browsing. Might as well. At least it wasn't work. There were some reviews, the words 'glitzy', 'over-the-top' and 'beyond crap' figuring quite frequently. Interview with their actors, saying how much they had loved doing the movie (pre-reviews) and how they did not want to be type-cast as FBI-agents/smokers/oil (post-reviews), and everyone cooed on about how they had got so close to their alter egos and yes, they were still in touch, lunching every once in a while, sharing inside secrets about federal cases because, hey, everyone knows how much you can trust the discretion of B-list actors from Tinseltown. Dream on, Mulder thought as he remembered the uncomfortable, annoying times he had spent with the actor supposedly playing him.

Like looking in a mirror. NOT.

Well, getting reminded about one of the most humiliating experiences of his carrer was not what he had been after entering cyberspace, whether it could be categorised as work or not did not matter. He had gritted his teeth enough for one day, he did not need to pay per hour to do it the whole night too. He was just about to turn it off and resign himself to quiz shows on TV when something caught his eyes. One of the hits stating 'Browse for movies, TV-series, shows, fanfiction, gen, het, slash.' Strange, why would that come up. He clicked on the icon and was faced with a search engine and a list of movies and Tv-series he had never heard of.

And other things as well that he didn't understand. 'Pairing, author, beta, mailing list'. Going down the list he found the X-files movie and clicked on it. Not much came up. A general archive, a character list, and oh, this was even weirder, an adult section.

What the fuck does Web ring owned by mean?

Not sure what would face him, but unable to resist all the same, he clicked on the Adult icon and came upon a image of the Mulder and Scully screen smooch in full colour and a bit larger than he felt really comfortable with. Underneath there was a few choices; 'missing scenes, other pairing, kink, violence'. He was beginning to get it now. Okay, so people liked to write sex-stuff, what else is new?

"Didn't they get enough from the movie?" he muttered to himself. "I sure did." Then something else caught his eyes. 'Slash Fanfiction', (warning; contains homoerotic material) enter here or leave. What? Hesitantly, almost looking over his shoulder, he clicked on the enter icon. 

A big picture of Alex Krycek appeared on the screen.

Damn! He almost jumped out of his chair, his heart suddenly in his throat. Shit, he hadn't expected that. It wasn't Krycek, of course. It was a picture of the actor playing him, but, and even Mulder had had to admit this, the producers had managed to cast a very convincing Alex Krycek. The likeness was uncanny. Okay, so he had been a little shorter than the real Alex. He hadn't had the green eyes, but instead deep, brown ones, and they did not burn with the same feral, sharp intensity but ...

Woah, Mulder, watcha doing?

He caught himself in time and managed to take a wide side-step from that particular line of thoughts, but could not help but think about the strange times he had had to endure with his nemesis alter ego. He had been asked to help the guy out a little as he, unlike the other actors, did not have an opportunity to meet the one he was portraying. Mulder remembered the meeting with a shudder. And the guy was apparently a method-actor. By the time they brunched together he was already deeply immersed in the role, not making it any easier to talk about all the things Krycek had done when he was sitting there in front of him, slouching, pushing strands of hair out of his face and asking every question with that hard, slightly droning voice. 

And here he was on the screen posing very suggestively with the words 'My place, you place, any place' written underneath. Strange, he hadn't figured the guy for the type. Mulder knew of course that there was a fine line between acting and posing, but, even stranger, this did not seem to be one of those before-they-were-famous' shots. For one thing, he was dressed as Krycek. The leatherjacket, white T-shirt, worn out Levi's, it was all there, snug and accentuating. Mulder suddenly wished he had not been quite so forthcoming in describing what Alex usually wore. He should have said that the triple agent wore loose-fitting sweats and a bag over his head. Or that he honestly had never paid any attention to it.

He shock off the thought and, with hands a bit more clammy than a few minutes earlier, clicked on the big Alex-like picture. A picture of the actor playing him, Mulder, appeared. Oh, great, that guy again. The image was big, crisp, clear. Hair all wrong, of course, but he was dressed in the dark suit they had copied from one of Mulder's own. He was leaning on a table, smile on his face, eyes closed.

Getting head from Alex.

"SHIT!" This time Mulder actually jumped up and took a few steps away from the screen, spilling his beer in the process. He hardly registered the sparkling wetness flowing over his hand, staring in disbelief at the image staring back at him, etching itself into his brain. Krycek on his knees, eyes closed, hands on the guy that for all intents and purposes was him, Mulder. Face nuzzled in his groin.

What the hell was this? What was it suppose to mean? Why them? The actors, whatever, but this was clearly meant to be the two of *them*. It said so. 'Fox and Alex, getting it on' it said underneath. And on top; 'The perfect pair.' What?

Heart beating so hard in his chest he thought it might pick its way through his rib-cage, Mulder approached the computer again, carefully edging his way closer to the heart-stopping image. Was this what the people seeing the movie *thought*? Wait a minute, was this what everyone was thinking? Were they all talking about it behind his back whenever he ranted on about how much he hated Krycek. If this was how people had interpreted their relationship from a two hour badly made fucking movie, then what did people who had spent years seeing his and Krycek's interaction close up think? Was there some gossips circulating that had just escaped him?

Was there some truth in it?

Suddenly weak he sank back on to the chair and stared at the manipulated image. Swallowing hard he put his hand on the mouse again and estimated the options. He didn't want to, but he just had to. Had to find out where all this was coming from. On random he picked the icon saying 'text archive'. Of all the other options, 'Mulder/Krycek links', 'ratpics', 'FBI hunks' and 'Is that position actually possible?', that one somehow sounded like the safer one.

Soon the screen was flooded with columns, options and names, and it took him a few minutes to figure it out. Strange. It did not seem to have anything to do with the movie, although his and Alex names figured. A lot.

'Like it? Contact us at Mulder/'

And then he got it. Fanfiction. Fans. Fiction. F-I-C-T-I-O-N.

He almost laughed out loud. Of course. They were making it up. It was meant to be fiction. Him and Alex were fictitious. Any more ways of saying it? He couldn't help himself, it was just such a relief. Mulder felt his shoulders dropping inches as he started scanning the site, somewhat less nervously. So this was not a serious 'outing' of an FBI-agent-cum-part-celebrity. It was some fantasies written down and displayed for like-minded people to read and get off on. It wasn't a personal thing, it was a sexual thing. Whatever actually went on between him and Alex privately, or rather, in the movie did not interest this web-site the slightest, they were only interested in what *didn't* go on between them.

Very interested, as it turned out. Story titles like; 'How to seduce an FBI-agent', 'What Scully couldn't give him' and 'AleXXX' flashed before him as he skimmed through what was on offer. Mulder bit his lip and thought for a while. So, then, if this was really only an outlet very far removed from anything remotely real, then it could not really hurt to... Oh, who the hell was he excusing himself to.

He started reading.

//*Mulder felt strong arms snake around him. Instinctively he tensed, then he recognized the smell, the sweet, musky smell of sex, the hard on pressed against his back pocket. "Alex," he groaned as he was turned around and came face to face with his nemesis. His partner. His lover. "Miss me?" The voice that fell on his lips was hot and husky. "Thought I'd give you some time to recover since I almost sucked you dry the last time. But now I thought I'd come an claim my long overdue payback."*//

Oh...my...god.

//*"What's the problem, Muuulder? (Shit, they have even got down the way he says my name) Don't trust yourself alone with me?" Alex pulled the shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. Then he turned and looked at Mulder, his brown eyes gleaming. Leered. The muscles played on his chest and in the dusky moonlight the shadows made him look strangely unreal, inhuman. Mulder swallowed hard and felt the familiar sensations in his groin. Maybe. If he just pretended it wasn't really Alex. Wasn't really real. "Don't even think about it, Foxy, I am going to make sure you know it is VERY real. And you want me to, don't you?"*//

They were bold, that was for sure. And very strange. Very strange. Fuck, he wouldn't even let Alex call him Fox when they were partners, if he ever tried referring to him as Foxy he would end up with one limb missing. Another one, that is. Damn, after reading so many stories of Alex having both his arms intact - and knowing how to use them very well indeed - he had almost forgot that the real Alex was someone else. One-armed. Cold. Unrepentant. Green-eyed...

Stop it! It's fiction. It's not him!

Mulder leaned back in his chair after having read a part 1/??? story where he and Alex had fucked their way through three different planets looking for a world free of alien invasion and homosexual taboos, the latter seeming to be of more importance than the former. He sighed and shook his head. He was physically exhausted from reading about it, just the thought of actually doing it...

The thought of actually doing it.

He blushed.

He stroked his hands over his eyes, noticing his face was very hot, almost feverish. There was a familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar, heat taking form in his groin. Oh, God, he had to calm down. One thing to read about it, quite another to get off on it. This was just fiction, for fuck's sake. The real Alex was probably crap in bed. The real Alex probably couldn't find the prostate gland if you gave him a flashlight and painted a big arrow on your arse. The real Alex undoubtedly went straight to the point, climaxed after half a minute and ordered you to leave. He did surely not kiss his way up your inner thigh and then suck you till you came. And then he most definitely didn't swallow.

And when did you start calling him 'Alex'?

//*"Yes, Alex," he whispered as he turned around. There was a low sound verging on a growl from the man behind him as he understood what was offered him. Mulder wondered if he was insane. How could he just give up all his control to this unscrupulous traitor? Just turn his back to him and wait. Close his eyes and wait. Writhe and moan and beg and wait.*//

He had to admit it. He was interested now. Once the thought was in his mind he could not get it out however much he wanted to. He was already thinking about it. Thinking about what the real Alex would and would not do in bed. On the couch. Against the wall. On the roof of the FBI Headquarters.

Stop it! There is nothing you can do about it anyway.

True, what could he do? Go down to a local pub and pick up anyone with green eyes and brown, floppy hair and then squint. Or even better, get in contact with that actor who portrayed Alex so well in the movie (and on top of Skinner's desk wearing nothing but a dog collar. And not around his neck.) Damn, he was getting hot. Mulder took a deep swig of his beer, only to realize that he had spilt most of it earlier and what little was left on the bottle did little to cool him down.

//*Hands slowly caressing down his back, tracing a pattern down his sides. He guessed it spelled "Alex'. He didn't care. "Now," he panted, the ragged, hoarse whisper unfamiliar to his ears. Alex must have heard it too. He could sense him smiling. The heat of the fingertips, still doing their light dance, reached his hips. "Now."*//

Right, beer, water, milk, anything cold and liquid. Down his pants.

He went into the kitchen and got a new beer out, drinking almost all of it in one sweep by the fridge light. Then he hesitated, battled with his own mind for a while, before giving in to his demons and going back to the computer. He knew he shouldn't have started reading. How could he have been so stupid? Shouldn't the words 'Alex Krycek' and 'his very special agent Foxy' in the same sentence have alerted him that maybe this was not for him. And what the fuck would have been so bad about getting some work done, huh? That might not be what 'normal' people did on a weekend off, but it was what smart, successful people did. Instead he was now going to spend a long lonely weekend at home being horny and, as if that wasn't enough, with his head filled with hundreds of images of Alex Krycek giving him multiple orgasms with his indexfinger.

How would he be able to get through this weekend without going out of his mind? Get laid, perhaps? Act out his deepest desires and then he would be rid of them. How, though? Go down to the gay bar on Green street and ask the first guy in there if he maybe wouldn't mind dressing up in a leather jacket, suspending him in the ceiling and fuck him with a gun. Who would be able to resist that?

Would Alex?

//*"Oh, Fox, do you know how good I am going to make you feel?" The warm breath against his back made him shudder. Alex fingers were still on his hips, but there was an edge in his voice that showed how much self restraint that took for the other man as well. Not able to help himself, Mulder moved backwards, yearning for contact, for things to move faster. The wanton gesture sent shots of arousal and humiliation through him. What was he thinking? This was beyond crazy. "Fuck me, Alex...Please."*//

Beyond crazy. It really was. Mulder moved his leg, the sensations shooting through him as he did set his teeth on edge. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this turned on. Had he ever? "I am not going to, I am not going to..." Too late, the mantra repeated in his head did not stop his hand from trailing down and brushing over the bulge in his jeans. A low moan escaped his lips as he did it again. "I am not going to..."

//*Kisses and bites covered his hips and thighs, slowly working their way over his arse, closer and closer... "Alex, don't...just...just get to it." Hands spreading his cheeks, and then a tongue, wet licks and then "Oh my god, what are you...OH!"*//

It was no good. Fingers unbuttoning, unzipping of their own accord. Finding his painfully hard erection and wrapping determinedly around it. He had to. Just had to.

//*"Do it, do it, do it." The desperation in his voice was real. He would go out of his mind if this went on any longer. Alex seemed to get it, or maybe he was just as close to the edge himself, because he bit down once, painfully hard, and then he withdrew, rummaged around for a bit before the longed for sound of a zipper being lowered.*//

He started moving his hand up and down over his hard cock. "Oh, fuck." When was the last time he had been this far gone, this fast? Again up and down, biting his lip and letting out a long moan.

//*The slick erection pushing at him. So big, so hard. Mulder bit his lip and prepared himself. This was going to hurt, but, god, how he wanted it. "Ready?" Hands tightening on his hips, and then one, hard push and Alex cock slid inside, far inside, in one smooth movement. "Yes!" Both men cried out in unison, taking a moment to adjust to the feel of each other, then starting to move.*//

This wasn't going to last long. Mulder's hand moved in sync with Alex thrusts on the screen, the vivid pictures painted in his head threatening sensory overload. There were no pretenses over what was doing this to him anymore. He knew who and what, and all he wanted now was to get part of the sudden, uncontrollable craving out of his system. He needed to come, and he was going to do it with the help of Alex.

//*Alex was not being careful and Mulder didn't give a damn. The harder the pace, the more he moaned and writhed. He heard himself gasping Alex's name over and over with every thrust. Alex only growled, biting his shoulder and neck, too far gone to try playing any more games. Now there was only there sweat-slicked bodies desperately moving together. *//

Faster and faster. He was so close now, he would probably finish before the on-screen version of himself. "Oh, God, yeah. Come on, Alex."

//*"Harder." The words came out as a sob, hardly audible over the sounds of their furious love-making. But Alex heard, or sensed them, as he bit back a strangled plea of his own and obliged. 'He is just as without control over this as I am', Mulder had time to think, but the incredible sensation as Alex cock suddenly hit right on his prostate over and over demolished all other possibility of thinking. "Oh, fuck, yes, Alex... right ...there...I...I'm..."*//

"Oh, Alex....Alex..." He could not prevent the name from spilling over his lips, and he didn't care anymore. All he cared about were the images in his mind, rapidly driving him towards oblivion.

//*"Oh, God, Fox, Fox." Fingers grasping, hand pumping, thrusting, screaming. "Oh, fuck, you feel so good...FOX." "ALEX!"*//

It was coming. He could feel it, from the soles of his feet, from his fingertips, every nerve-ending in his body getting ready, shooting sensations through him. "Oh, yes...Alex....oh, oh..."

A sound tearing through the apartment.

Not one he had made.

Shit! His eyes flew open, turning instinctively towards the noise, not even enough presence of mind to remove his hand from his throbbing cock. There it was again, another sound. There was definitely someone in the apartment. And where was his gun?

"Fuck!" he cursed out loud, trying to gather his shattered mind and protesting body. "Fuck!"

Somebody was in the room. There was a figure in the doorway, leaning against the frame, casual stance, gun in the right hand. The left hand covered in a glove. Green eyes gleaming. 

"Oh my, something has really got somebody inspired. Maybe I should take a look?" Alex said. 

THE END.

  
Archived: June 14, 2001 


End file.
